I have to firmly hold onto a belief that everyone in the world has shed tears over something beautiful

Statistical illogic aside, many intelligent people have this idea, simply because they don’t find communion of the mind with most of the people they encounter. They look for it and are met with blank stares, or dismissal, or laughter. Slowly they stop trying. They settle in amongst a very few friends, perhaps, and their own thoughts; and they don’t try to make the common man debate the possibility of a secular concept of morality or discuss the flaws in the premise of postcolonialist literary criticism. They find other outlets. It’s called disillusionment. I refuse to share in it.

She laughed at me. It was a slightly patronizing, barely perceivable chuckle. Then she said “Umm…probably?” I should have known she wouldn’t understand. I almost decided she was a stupid girl jock who didn’t deserve any of my time anyway. Then I thought of her life, and what she did with it; she was an athlete. She had passions of her own. She had depth in areas I wouldn’t understand. Maybe there was something that stirred her soul and mind that she couldn’t access by talking about what it is to be human. "As long as she has it, isn’t that okay?" I thought to myself. "Doesn't she deserve to be included in the ranks of the conscious?"